Keep Your Enemy Closer
by Last of the Lilac Wine
Summary: Katniss Everdeen was only supposed to go into the Hunger Games faking a romance with her fellow District 12 tribute, Peeta. But with Haymitch's brilliant idea crumbling around them and their plan sabotaged, Katniss finds herself caught in the middle of a very dangerous love triangle...one that nobody can be sure they're going to survive.
1. 1 Cato

**A/N **This story was taken down a few months back for some major editing. Hope you all enjoy!

Story **Rated M **for swearing (there's a lot of it - it's Cato), graphic violence and sexual situations.

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**CATO**

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_Fuck them all_. I ought to have that tattooed on my forehead, for all the times I've thought it. Usually I'm in training, working until my lungs give out. Today, it's the real deal – I'm on the three day training program with the other tributes before the Hunger Games officially begin.

I weave in and out of the line towards the front – some guy from District 1 tells me to get to the back and wait my turn. I give him the finger.

At the front of the line I pick up a sword. It's pretty decent. The hand-and-a-half hilt is made of a similar stainless steel to the blade and the sword's lighter than the ones I'm used to using – meaning that it's easier to maneuver.

I check behind me to make sure other Career tributes are watching and with a single hand swing the sword through the air – decapitating the head of the dummy in front of me. I move on to cut off the dummy's arms and legs in swift motions. I'm tempted to turn around and take a slice out of that District 1 prick too, but I know I can't, if only because I know that the Nazis that run this camp will make me clean the blood up.

I settle the sword back on the rack once I'm done and glance at it with appreciation. It was easy to handle – light and decently sharp. I'll have to hope the Gamemakers stick it in the arena.

When I stalk past the queue of people, the girl that looks like a porn-star from District 1 makes a point of smiling at me. Her partner, on the other hand, just glares at me when I smirk at him.

I wonder to the corner of the room where I know that Crazy Clove is likely to meet me. She's a volunteer tribute, like me, who spends most of her time flicking knives at anything that moves. What the hell goes on in her sadistic little mind, I have no idea, but she's smart, so I keep her around.

"Clove," I say - with out glancing round I know she's appeared next to me. "What's up?"

She squints at me. "District 1's getting on my nerves." I don't know which District 1 tribute she's referring to. Either way, they're both annoying as fuck. Her mouth twists into a grimace. "I never should have gotten out of bed."

If Clove even has a bed – it's news to me. She spent all of last night browsing this training room to 'get a better feel of it' for today. "Sorry about that," I say. "Do you think it's worth forming an alliance with them?"

She jerks her shoulders upwards in a shrug. "The guy, maybe. I can't see the girl being much help."

I lean back against a pillar, giving the District 1 girl an appraising once-over. "She's fit," I say, finally. My eyes rake over her curves and the swell of her breasts. "She'll get us sponsors."

"I suppose if you pretended to love her…."

Even though most of the stuff that comes out of Clove's mouth is total bullshit, her plan doesn't sound half bad. "_That's _advice I can listen to," I smirk.

"Whatever, Cato. If you're going to seduce her, don't let it distract you from your training."

Clove's standing directly in front of me, her arms folded and I role my eyes. I shove her a little. She is lighter than you'd think, like whatever was inside her was used up long ago. With that reasoning, it's a wonder I don't float off into the sky.

"I won't," I snap at her when she glares at me. "Listen, this is getting lame – I'm leaving."

"We still have two hours of training left, Cato!" she yells after me.

I ignore her and make for the roof. Except I'm not the only one there.

I'm surprised at this very moment, when I open the door onto the roof to find this gorgeous girl sitting meters away from me, one who gets to her feet and asks me what the hell I'm doing here.

"What the hell are _you _doing here?" I counter.

The girl frowns angrily. "I asked you first."

She's at least sixteen – one – maybe two years younger than me, but with every glance this makes less and less of a difference. She's got grey eyes that pierce me, and a mouth so soft I have a hard time tearing my eyes away from it to check out the rest of her.

Then I notice the twelve sewn into her training jacket. All the violins soaring in my veins screech to a stop. "Are you another tribute?"

"Yes, I'm from twelve." She says stiffly. "Katniss Everdeen."

I'm sure she could be so much nicer if I removed that pole from up her ass.

"Cato. You're the one who volunteered for their sister, aren't you?"

Something in her face tightens. "Yes. What are you doing up here?"

"I couldn't be bothered to train any more."

"Really?" This seems to surprise her, as if defiance is something she's cornered the market on. "Why?"

I shrug, getting bored fast. "I told you, I couldn't be bothered."

She hesitates, and then leans against a wall opposite me. "Was…was my tribute partner still there when you left?"

"You mean short blond guy? Yeah, last time I checked he'd fallen off the climbing frame."

She glares at me (does this girl have some other facial expression that doesn't involve a scowl?) "Do you happen to know where he is now?"

I glance at the now darkening sky around us. "No." Then I grin at her. "If you feel like waiting, I can keep you company."

To my shock, she actually agrees. "Alright…what…what did you do during training?"

"Tact isn't really your thing, is it?"

She narrows her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I lean back against the door again and cross my arms, so that my biceps flex. I give her a grin that's stopped half the female population of District 2 training facility in their tracks. "I mean, if you're trying to find out my strengths and weaknesses there are other ways to go about it. Do you have plans for tonight?"

She stares at me like I've spoken Greek. Has this girl _ever _had a guy come on to her? "Are you asking me out on a _date_?"

"I'm sure as hell trying."

She looks equal parts uncomfortable and angry. "I'm from District _Twelve _and you're from District _Two_."

"Yeah, but when two fit people meet, distinctions of class hardly matter."

She bites her lip. "No."

"You have the most fantastic eyes." By now, I've given up on asking her out on a date – now, it's just amusing how uncomfortable she's getting under my flirting.

Katniss Everdeen chooses that moment to zip up her training jacket to her chin, which makes me laugh out loud.

"Shouldn't you be going to find your tribute partner for dinner or something?" she asks, pointedly. Right, Clove.

_Or _I could find Glimmer and start working on her.

"Sure, Number Twelve." I shrug off of the wall. As I leave I catch her expression in my peripheral. She looks annoyed with herself.

I make my way down to District 2's floor, then double back on myself when I hear voices coming from a dark corridor off to my right.

"Listen, son, right now she stands _no chance _you need to make her _desirable_, make the audience fall in love with her."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

I grin to myself. Undoubtedly, this is one of those sacred strategy conversations between a mentor and their tribute. The kind that, if you get a chance to listen in on one, you can exploit a tribute's strategy in seconds. Or knick it, depending on how good it is.

The voices drop, and I struggle to hear what they're saying.

"You _can't tell Katniss_."

I pause, raising my eyebrow.

_Can't tell Katniss what?_

There's a sound of footsteps coming my way, indicating that the conversation was officially over, and I duck into the nearest elevator quickly.

"Hello, Cato."

I turn round, a dozen flip responses working their way up my throat as the elevator doors slide shut. I smirk. "Glimmer."

I make the decision in my head quickly, and back her up against the wall. "Fancy seeing _you _here," I murmur, running my nose a long her jaw line.

She breathes unsteadily, and her hands move up to grip my shoulders. The fact that she can barely form a coherent sentence fuels my ego. "Looking….for you."

I capture her lips with my own quickly, moving in perfect sync with hers. I swear, it would have gone further, if the elevator doors hadn't pinged open at Floor 5 and Miss Frigid from District 12 hadn't stood, face flushed with shock in the door way.

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**A/N **I know, I know – the whole Katniss/Cato thing's been done before, but I swear I've got a completely fresh take on it (I hope).

Please **review** if this at least sparked your interest!

Last Of The Lilac Wine


	2. 1 Katniss

**KATNISS**

Prim is the only proof I was born into my family, instead of being dropped off on the doorstep by some couple who ran into the night. On the surface, we're polar opposites: my younger sister is shaped like a pixie, all noodle arms and legs with blond hair and blue eyes that look like chinks of sky. Me, well, nobody would ever call me _mean_, but nobody would ever call me _too nice _like Prim either. Under the skin, we're sisters, and we're both the same: people think they know what they're getting, and they're always wrong.

Which is exactly the kind of strategy I'm playing up to here. Act weak. Don't show your strengths.

All the reasons why I'm at a knot tying station instead of running a dummy through with a spear like the guy from District 1 is doing only meters from me. I scowl angrily down at my working hands. It keeps me from flinching like the girl from District 10 does every time she hears the dull _thump _of a weapon crashing into a would-be person.

The male trainer looks encouragingly at me when I struggle with a complicated knot. Unwittingly, I think of Gale, and how clever his hands are with any kind of rope and snare.

"You're doing fine," the trainer tells me. "Having a decent understanding of being able to tie even the most basic of knots ensures you'll be able to set traps, create a shelter – survive."

I doubt that being able to tie a knot will help me half as much as getting my hands on a decent weapon or some food would. But I don't say that to his face.

"Survive," I repeat. The word is runny, slippery like the white of an egg. It's what all 23 of the tributes around me will be attempting to do. Ultimately, only one of us will succeed. "Right."

Peeta shoots me a sympathetic smile. I don't smile back at him, because that just makes everything so much harder. I can't afford to let myself feel anything other than indifference for this boy with the bread – allowing myself to care for him is a weakness I can't afford to have in the arena.

Still, I can't shake the feeling that I _owe _Peeta something after he saved my life. There is a thick, vicious silence for a moment where he glances at me worriedly out of the corner of his eye.

"I need some fresh air," I say, jerking abruptly up to my feet.

The trainer cuts in before Peeta can ask me if I'm alright. "I thought you were looking a bit peeky. I've got some tablets here to get your energy levels back up."

I stare at the unnaturally colored, bright purple pills he's offering me, and glare. "I'm being forced to fight to my inevitable death with people who can hit a target dead-center with a spear from twenty feet – somehow, I don't think a bunch of purple pills are going to take care of that."

It's probably the longest speech I've made since I arrived at the Capitol.

Without checking the trainer's reaction I turn on my heel and stride towards the exit, anger sparking around me like electricity.

I can't hide in the cafeteria, or my room, or anywhere else they will expect me to go and come looking for me so they can drag me back to training. So I take the stairs to the twelfth floor and from there, the roof.

Outside the sky is slowly turning gold with the setting sun.

I'm trying to relax when I hear a door opening. I turn around quickly, already pissed for being interrupted and before I can register who it is I'm speaking to, I snap: "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What the hell are _you _doing here?" the person counters, and I catch myself before I my jaw drops, instead narrowing my eyes angrily.

It's the District 2 male tribute. Taller than I would have thought possible, blond haired and virile.

The fact that he hasn't answered my question hasn't escaped me either. I frown. "I asked you first."

He suddenly seems to see me properly and an appreciative smirk crosses his face. It's that look that makes me want to kick his ass back to the training room. _After _I kill him. "Are you another tribute?"

"Yes. I'm from twelve," I say, stiffly. His charm, the sunset, it's putting me on edge. It all feels engineered to catch me off guard. "Katniss Everdeen."

"Cato," he says. "You're the one who volunteered for their sister, aren't you?"

I don't respond at first, but something changes. The temperature of the air, maybe, or the walls that come up in my eyes. "Yes…What are you doing up here?"

He has a very distinctive gait: a simultaneously lazy and intimidating, self-possessing way of holding himself that seems to suggest that wherever he might be, he would be just as comfortable somewhere else. It's apparent in the way he shrugs.

"I couldn't be bothered to train anymore."

"Really?" I'm surprised, but then again, should I be? when it's clearly evident that this is a boy…man…that never plays by any one elses rules but his own? Yet the irony of that statement lies in the way he's been trained since birth for the Hunger Games – really, he's been playing to their rules all along. "Why?"

"I told you, I couldn't be bothered."

I've been waiting for it – the little red flag that tells me I'm facing a trained killer. Now, his eyes flash with impatience, and his jaw clenches. It gives me a kind of grim satisfaction to see that he isn't as charming and easy-going as he likes to give off. It's only a brief flash of what's underneath, however, and it's gone before I can make much more of it.

We talk for a little while, until I'm suddenly caught off-guard by the teasing smile he shoots me and the way his biceps flex – and suddenly I'm not the hardened girl from the Seam anymore who could gut a rabbit with out flinching. I feel like a Capitol girl who seems to think that nothing is worth having so much as something unattainable – and this dangerous, handsome boy in front of me is the definition of a challenge, of unattainable.

"Are you asking me out on a _date_?" I'm hit with the understanding as to why he's here with full force, and I'm furious with myself for letting him get under my skin so easily. For talking to him, for being stupid enough to let my guard down enough that he thinks he can _use _me to maybe figure out my weaknesses or how easy it will be to kill me in the arena. Everything – from his compliments on my looks, to the way he's got me to relax against the wall opposite him – has probably been coldly calculated to extract as much information from me as possible.

"I'm sure as hell trying," he winks.

"You're sure as hell failing," I snap. "I'm from District _Twelve _and you're from District _Two_."

"Yeah, but when two fit people meet, distinctions of class hardly matter."

"No!"

From the wide grin on his face, I can tell he's enjoying this. "You have the most fantastic eyes," he murmurs huskily. From the tone of his voice I can't tell if he's still teasing me or if he's genuinely trying to be seductive. Either way, his words affect me more than they should.

I zip up my training jacket to my chin, which makes him laugh out loud.

"Shouldn't you be trying to find your tribute partner for dinner or something?" I ask, desperately trying to make him leave.

"Sure, Number Twelve," _Cato _shrugs off of the wall. I'm angry that he's appears to be so indifferent towards me, when he's managed to wind me up so easily.

I stay on the roof for a few minutes after he leaves, and then decide to make my way back down to the training centre to look for Peeta.

I call for the elevator by slamming my fist against the button.

When the doors open, I blink – because whatever I expected to see wasn't _this_.

Back pressed against the NO SMOKING sign, is Cato, with the girl from District 1 vined round him. Pale towheads bent together, they are a matching set, and the image shouldn't bother me as much as it does.

The girl moans into the kiss, and I'm suddenly embarrassed. I can see the image of my shocked face reflected back at me hundreds of times in the mirror of the elevator as Cato suddenly raises his head and looks at me.

His hair is ruffled and his lips are slightly kiss swollen.

I stare at him and for just a splinter of a minute see the slightly shocked expression on his face before he grins smoothly at the girl and kisses her on the lips again.

I look away.

"I'll see you later," he murmurs, before stepping out of the elevator to stand next to me.

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**A/N **Chapters won't always be Cato's view point of an event, and then the same event played out exactly the same through Katniss's eyes – I appreciate that that would get lame pretty fast. This is just a one-off thing so that you guys can see how I interperate Katniss.

Also, I've got four stories on the go, so please bare with me if updates for this story are sparodic!

Last Of The Lilac Wine


	3. 2 Cato

**CATO **

Henri, the District 1 mentor that I vaguely know, and Ophelia, some woman mentor that I don't, sit Clove and me down the next morning and tell us what we already know: interviews are tomorrow and we need an angle. Henri leads me into an empty room, already looking bored.

"I've already got an angle," I say, as if he's not the one with ten years of experience on me; as if I've done this before and actually know what I'm doing.

For a moment he just looks at me. "Brilliant, you can be yourself – another arrogant, high in testosterone kid that thinks they can get through this thing on brawn and not brain."

"Who the hell are you?" I snap, annoyed. Of course, I already know: he's my mentor. It's just that he's supposed to be on _my _side.

"Your fairy god mother. You dumb little shit – you do realize that I'm your _mentor_. I give the life-saving advice."

"No kidding? Listen, I can win this. I overheard another tribute's plan and I'm willing to burn it to the ground," I lift one finger, "_as long as _I can go _after _them. District 12 needs to go into that interview first."

You can actually see the gears churning in his head. "I can make that happen." He says finally. "But I'm going to need to know the plan."

I consider him for a second. Henri is a few inches shorter than my 6'2, with stubble across his jaw line. Four out of the ten kids he's mentored have made it to be victors, meaning that he's got a higher tribute survival rate than any other mentor alive or dead.

"Okay." I say finally, and tell him.

When I'm finished, Henri's eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline. "Genius," he murmurs to himself.

"I know," I smirk.

He rolls his eyes as he motions for me to walk out the room with him. "This still doesn't mean I like you, Cato. Let's go get lunch."

Through another large door is a long dining table layed out with food. Clove is already sat there, moodily spearing some salad with her fork. Ophelia sits at the extreme opposite end of the table to Clove, glowering at my black-haired fellow tribute.

I sit next to Clove, and she glances at me out of the corner of her eye. "Got a good angle?" she asks, in a tone that implies she couldn't care less.

Henri shakes his head, sitting opposite us and helping himself to some strange bluish coloured soup. "Don't feed his ego Clove." Once he's served himself, he fixes me with an unwavering stare. "I hope you know what you're doing, Cato."

I flash him a smirk. "Trust me, I do."

[insert line break here]

Henri pulls the right strings, and, come interview day, District 12 are the first to go on stage.

I watch the screen closely as the Girl on Fire leaves the room and walks on stage. Katniss is wearing a gown that _literally _catches fire, the type of dress you'd see a Capitol woman wearing – totally not the dress code of a District 12 kid that comes from one of the poorer parts of Panem. She giggles and does a few twirls, and when she comes off stage she deliberately doesn't meet my eyes.

Lover Boy goes up next, and my throat instantly feels like it's paved with sandpaper. I'm not normally one to get nervous, but if anything about my plan is going to work, Mellark _has _to go forward with what I overheard him discussing with his mentor, Haymitch. Who, incidentally, was standing right next to me, and had no idea I was about to blow his master-scheme wide open.

I smirk.

He stands there, drinking out of a suspicious looking flask and watches the screen displaying the interviews just as closely as I am.

I turn to him. "Is that what I think it is?" I ask, nodding to the flask.

He gives me a nasty grin. "Depends what you think it is," he says, taking another deep swig.

I hold my hand out, and he raises his eyebrow at me. "Just how old are you, son?"

"Old enough," I answer, rolling my eyes.

He thinks about it, and then hands the flask to me. I take a gulp of the liquid and catch Katniss watching me disgustedly. I wink at her.

…_I don't think it's going to work out. Winning…won't help in my case_…

You could hear a pin drop as Mellark's voice reaches everyone's ears.

…_Why ever not?..._

…_.Because…because…she came here with me…_

A full blown grin stretches across my face. Katniss looks shocked. The audience goes crazy.

When Peeta comes off stage he and Katniss are assured into another room and her angry yells can be heard through the paper thin walls.

By the time they re-emerge, the District 3 male tribute is up and I'm almost next. Katniss stands next to me, arms crossed.

"Didn't see that coming, huh?" I ask.

She shakes her head jerkily, looking angry. "He barely talks to me for two days, and then suddenly he has a crush on me? Of course I didn't see it coming!"

I glance at Peeta who's standing across the room next to Haymitch. For the most part he looks slightly sheepish, rubbing the front of his neck where a bruise is already forming.

_So you tried to strangle him_, I think, and it doesn't surprise me.

It does, however, make me wonder how she's going to react after what I say in _my _interview.

A guy in a suit steps forward and asks me to follow him. I turn back to Katniss quickly. "Whatever you do, don't move from this spot."

"Why not?"

I grin, and take a nice long pull again of whatever is in Haymitch's flask before handing it back to him. "Because this is one blow out you're going to want to see."

And with that, I'm dragged on stage.

Coming from a Career District is a hell of a lot different than coming from any other District. First, you instantly get sponsors – no matter how bad you screw up the interview, because people are willing to bet you've got about twelve years of training for the Hunger Games on everyone else competing. Second, you're literally playing into the hands of the uptight, power-crazy assholes who want to show that coming from a rich district means that you stand a better chance of winning. And third – and least palatable – people see you coming. You command their attention. Which is why the audience instantly fall silent the moment I come on stage.

Caesar Flickerman stands up and greets me like an old friend, which, I have to say, I find kind of weird. Then we sit, and the interview begins.

"So, Cato," he smiles at me. "What do you think of your fellow tribute Peeta Mellark's confession of love to our dear Katniss?"

"It doesn't surprise me," I shrug. "The bottom line," I explain. "Is that we never fall for the people we're supposed to."

My interviewer cracks a joke, eliciting a laugh from the audience. "I thought it was just me!"

I smirk and shake my head. "Hell no! Think about it: every once in a while, someone bucks the system. Someone falls for the person they were never supposed to and no one else sees it coming." For a second I wonder if I've layed it on too thick, but Flickerman takes the bait.

Obviously intrigued, he leans forward. "What are you trying to say here, my boy?"

I decide to use Katniss's own words against her. "I'm saying that nobody wants what they've got, and even though I'm from District _Two _and she's from District _Twelve, _Peeta Mellark has competition for the Girl on Fire's heart."

There's a collective pause across Panem, where everyone seems to hold their breath, then, like someone's pushed the button to trigger a bomb, the 4,000 people in the audience jump to their feet. The roar of the crowd is deafening, and over everything I can hear Caesar Flickerman shouting: "Wow! Incredible…incredible! A love triangle has formed right here on the Hunger Games!"

I look straight out into the audience, into the blinding lights directed at the stage that illuminate my face, and wait to see what the next move in this game will be.

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**A/N **Oh, Cato. I do love to write you.

Anyway, fairy dust to anyone that reviews!


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